


Retazo

by crayons



Series: Question mark [3]
Category: fromis_9 (Band)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-29 19:21:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18300416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crayons/pseuds/crayons
Summary: In which Gyuri is an actress, and Saerom is the producer of her new movie.





	Retazo

It is in the small details. The lens which one must use to see them must be trained enough, or at least equipped with experience with brilliance in order to recognize it in its miniscule. Brilliance is subjective, of course. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, yada yada _yada_. But it can be hidden and in a scoop of a well-machined weave of perseverance and willingness to craft, one can spool together a matter of well-contained brilliance. It is in the smallest of details. It is in the simplicity of a single rigid muscle, a closed fist, the clenching of her jaw, a slight pause before an evil monologue, which they have heard countless times before and while it seems to go on forever, Saerom cannot seem to pull her eyes away.

Saerom has never seen her act before. She smiles, as a punctuation, making the end of the monologue seemingly more sinister. The script does not call for the character to smile, except it feels almost wrong when those that come after her keep their lips in a straight line, all serious and brooding. The smile might have even evoked resentment somewhere in Saerom, or maybe it could have been due to something else altogether. It is interesting to see the way everyone interprets differently, but also painstaking to go through the list again and find that there are so many forgettable people in their already put-together list of girls. They casting director has narrowed it down to six girls, but the last round of auditions still took half of their day.

Jiwon clears her throat, and begins to tidy the papers in front of her, a signal for the last girl to leave the room, which the girl and everyone else in the room seem not to understand, and Saerom realizes she has to be the one to verbalize. “Well… thank you.”

She tries to be as short, concise and well-meaning as possible, without putting the girl’s hopes up but she catches her face fall and knows there really is just no way around rejection. Jiwon is only ever quiet during days like this, where they go through potential actresses in hopes of finding one that would fit the part and appeal to their audiences, and while Saerom thinks that Jiwon can be a bit cut-throat in the whole process, perhaps her silence is an attempt at kindness, sparing the poor innocent lambs the reality of the industry.

Jiwon announces a lunch break, and while the casting director and the other producers scramble to leave the room immediately, Jiwon and Saerom stay in their seats eager for the promise of a home cooked meal by Jisun, who in addition to finishing the last revision of her script, still has time to cook for them since _they only ever eat junk from convenience stores_ , which the two of them won’t even deny since Jisun is the best cook they know, maybe even the best person in existence.

They quickly go through the number of dishes Jisun prepared, almost to the point of unhuman speed, like they were just breathing everything in. Jiwon and Saerom particularly enjoy eating, and Jisun is satisfied just seeing them finish everything. She even prepared a cheesecake from their favorite bakery two streets away from their building, that despite being a short 10-minute walk, Saerom and Jiwon couldn’t make time to visit.

Jiwon is halfway into shoving a big slice of cake into her mouth, when she asks out of the blue, “Would you be opposed to it if I cast Gyuri for the part?”

“Why would I be opposed to it?” Confusion manifests with the tilting of Saerom’s head. Saerom only sat in for today’s auditions, skipping out on several boring previous ones that they only do to weed out the best from the best, but even she can tell that Gyuri stands out among her peers, bias aside, just from her subtle smirks and gentle conviction.

“Because you’re dating her,”

“You and Jisun seem to do perfectly fine,”

Dating co-workers isn’t exactly forbidden. There aren’t any strict written rules about it, but it does lead to more complicated circumstances compared to _not_ dating co-workers. Being the center of attention and gossip isn’t exactly new in the industry they’re in, but at the same time no one really likes peering eyes and hushed voices whenever two people are as much as within fifty feet from each other.

“Jisun is a professional hand holder, who is contractually obliged to hold my hand and occasionally give me kisses.” Jiwon puckers her lips in Jisun’s direction, forgetting about the spoonful of cheesecake she was so enticed by earlier. Jiwon is embarrassing, but Jisun loves her enough to work around that, and sometimes Jisun delights in the effect she has on Jiwon, so she leans in quickly, giving her a quick peck on the mouth.

Jisun gives a satisfied smile when Jiwon’s ears gets colored red. “Very _very_ occasionally.”

Saerom would contest of the truth in Jisun’s words, but maybe Jiwon just doesn’t know, or maybe she’s pretending not to know. Otherwise, it would have been embarrassing for Jisun who kisses Jiwon’s nose when she sleeps and thinks she’s so sly about it. Saerom would be lying if she said she doesn’t envy them. Working seems like a lot of fun, as long as they’re together.

“You didn’t tell us she was good.” Jiwon remarks in between chewing.

“I… Well… I didn’t know either.” Saerom admits, and an ache in her chest seems to surface. Why didn’t she make time to see at least one stupid play? Suddenly, she doesn’t have the appetite for cake.

Jisun digests the words, giving the conversation a bit of a pause to take the information in, perhaps like an occupational disease. If the audience can infer more meaning to a line of dialogue, or a simple gesture, or a slight change in expression, then an appropriate amount of time should be allowed for everything to be taken in – a way of digestion; and allow for an appropriate response which never comes because Saerom speaks again.

“You don’t have to worry. Gyuri and I are no longer seeing each other.”

When she and Gyuri were together, Saerom can count with one hand the number of times she saw Gyuri in their last year as a couple. They had both been very busy. Saerom with film productions, and Gyuri with musical theatre. Perhaps they had both felt that they had both melted off each other’s lives, a slow and benign process which could not leave nasty marks. They were very civil, and had both agreed to live separate lives, in fear that after melting away they might learn to bite and chew. Saerom wouldn’t really think to scar all the love that they hav– _well,_ had with hatred.

The atmosphere changes drastically, as it usually does when truth is set free. It colors the world differently, and every moment prior can be read differently as well. A haircut is just a simple haircut under normal everyday circumstances, but under the backdrop of a break up, a haircut is symbolic of change – the need to be a new person, physically at least, a guise where moving on is given more room to be made feasible.

Jiwon suddenly sensing the change in the mood suggests they go out to take a breather. Being in the same room for several hours can drain their energies and maybe they could use it to see a bit of sun. But they still get caught up by tasks in the office somehow. Jisun waits idly in the ground floor lounge, re-reading her screenplay as Jiwon and Saerom go on with delegating tasks and taking on more decision-making.

 

*

When they have released a press junket about their new lead rookie actress a few days later, they anticipated it would cause a bit of a stir. Their audience can be… involved, for the lack of better word. When they begun going in the direction of anti-hero action crime thrillers, they didn’t think it would create a particular niche audience of young adults who have very varying philosophies about life, heroism and strength. The intense discussions between fans and critics seem to fuel more of Jisun’s creative juices that at one time Jiwon and Saerom have agreed that everything Jisun does has now become secondary to writing what she aspires to be the perfect screenplay.

(She was assembling a Gundam model one day and accidentally flicked a small piece of assembly block directly into Jiwon’s eyeball when the idea of their recent movie hit her simultaneously. Jisun had only come face-to-face with Jiwon who was then wearing an eye patch after a hospital visit when she had finished aggressively typing away all her ideas. In reality, of course, the entire story was completed in two years, and Jiwon’s eye turned out okay after the incident.)

In the few hours that the article has been out, Saerom swears she has never seen so much about Gyuri at a single time. People have already dug up her old school records and photos, and an old university play she wasn’t even the lead character for. The girl is smart and good. She could be prettier apparently. She doesn’t really photograph well, or she doesn’t photograph as well as she looks in person. No camera seems to be able to capture her beauty to its fullest. But that can work to their advantage. In Saerom’s perspective—that is, a _producer_ ’s perspective—she could be more eye-catching given the right fixing up. Nothing drastic, surely a good make up and style team could do it. Of course the girl is prettier in person, even when she’s not made up. Given the right amount of noise and clamor, they might not even need the girl to go to the people, the people would willingly come and take a look.

In Saerom’s perspective—that is, an ex-girlfriend’s perspective—she has never looked happier and more beautiful. Saerom wonders if it is what comes from the end of the two of them. Their melting off. A good riddance? She closes her phone browser, locks her phone, and shoves it in her pocket wordlessly. With Jiwon suddenly coming into view, nagging her about costs and government permits, this is when she begins to feel the hustle of their new drama production. When she begins barely seeing Jisun in the office, and finding out later that she’s been making home in Jiwon’s apartment. And most especially when Jiwon is more of a loud-mouthed nagger compared to the usual, checking every deadline, equipment, and person.

 

They work with the same people. They try to, at least. The same writer, but that’s a given. The same editors. The same composers. Some few same actors, but never the same parts. Apparently, their production house is responsible for putting Lee Nagyung into stardom, casting her in a movie she couldn’t personally watch yet at the time and stealing every scene she was in. If anything, Lee Nagyung is already a star in her own right, they were just the first ones to take notice. She and Jiwon wanted no more than to find a way to showcase good compelling stories. But it seems in the process, they’ve built a reputation of discovering eye-catching new found talents as well. 

She runs into Jiwon again, and surely being found the second time means bad things are happening and in fear of being told of her inadequacies, Saerom makes a run for it. Jiwon is precise, and hard-headed, sometimes inflexible about the projects she directs, mostly because everything she directs now are Jisun’s stories, where everything is handled with delicate care and love, so everything should be in place where she wants it to be. When it isn’t, Saerom takes most of the beating.

“Why are you running?!” She asks in annoyance, after grabbing her by the shoulder and Saerom swears she felt her fingers dig into her skin. How can Jiwon catch her running with those short legs?

“Uh… exercise?” 

Jiwon shoots her a judging look. _Exercise,_ really? That was the best she could think of? “Well, are you done exercising?”

Saerom surrenders quickly, pouting as she gets dragged into an empty conference room by Jiwon. Surely Jiwon is halfway into plotting Saerom’s murder. Directing crime thrillers is enough experience to execute the perfect crime. Saerom thinks Jiwon might have actually already planted an alibi beforehand.

“Jisun wants to meet our leads.”

“The table read is tomorrow.”

“No, before that.”

“You mean _today_?”

Jiwon simply nods, as though that’s the easier one of her requests.

“I don’t think their companies are going to be happy to send them out so suddenly without prior notice.” But Saerom starts dialing anyway, knowing full well that Jiwon does not prioritize happiness during hard times. The more difficult the process, the more fulfilling she found it to be. They don’t like to rely on spectacle, but every now and then, Jiwon finds a really good choreographed fight scene, a car chase, or a car explosion, and puts all her energy into making it absolutely perfect. With that thought, Saerom cannot fault her for asking for their actors suddenly, because this just feels like a minor inconvenience compared to being asked to squeeze a rocket launcher in their already tight budget.

Apparently, Jisun wants their opinion on the script. A good creative decision, but with terrible timing. She could have asked sooner. Instead, they have one lead actor shooting an advertisement and one lead actress without a manager to drive her to the building.

“You have a car, right?”

“I don’t like where this is going.”

“Driving can be exercise, too.”

Saerom complies begrudgingly, asking the company their rookie actress’ whereabouts, and unhappily driving to pick her up even though it’s not at all part of her job description. How did she become the producer, the assistant, and the manager? Well, if Saerom can put a positive spin on things, at least being out of the office is good too.

The sun is beginning to set turning the sky into a pretty combination of orange and pink when she gets out of the building. It’s nice to see the sky sometimes. Once filming begins, Saerom will probably visit filming sites and pay no attention to what other else is happening to her surroundings. Once filming ends, she’ll plow through editing rooms and the other times, she’ll be stuck in her office, monitoring numbers, the return profit, the box office, ratings, reviews and articles and most importantly becoming the punching bag to both Jisun and Jiwon’s creative fists. So maybe she’ll thank Jiwon later for letting her go out of the office, because it might be a while until she sees the sun and the sky again.

Gyuri is at her parents’ house. Saerom recognizes the particular roads the GPS is leading her to take, she has driven Gyuri enough number of times to her parents’ house to remember. When the secretary of Gyuri’s company gave her Gyuri’s number, it was still the same number she had in her contact list. And when she dials her number to ask her to meet her at the parking area near the fountain, it feels like a callback to a memory from long ago, especially when she arrives, comfortably settling in the passenger seat and buckling her seatbelt in place.

“I’m sorry that this is so sudden,” And in a split second, Saerom also registers that even her perfume is the same.

It is almost like no time has passed between the two of them, and the time they were not together have folded into themselves, and that they are again at the starting point – except (there is always an exception) when Gyuri shows her face, looking up, Saerom finds it difficult to recognize what her almost blunted smile may mean.

“No, no, it’s okay, I’m afraid I’m actually the one inconveniencing you.”

“That’s not true.”

In an otherwise silent and long drive back, Saerom can hear the walls being built between them, crushing her absurd request for everything to still be the same. How can she expect things not to change? When in fact, it might have been change that drove them apart. Their busy routines, barely seeing each other, waking up to an empty bed because Gyuri has left, or worse leaving Gyuri to spend the night alone.

“Kiho won’t be there. Have you become friendly with him?” Saerom takes a look at her face when they reach a stop at an intersection, observing her expressions carefully. Kiho is terribly shy when it comes to strangers, barely speaking and initiating interactions. And sometimes people find him arrogant since he’s not as quick to smile or look cheerful.

“We talked a bit when we did the initial screen test.”

“And?”

“I thought he’d be a lot cooler.”

Saerom erupts into laughter. Gyuri speaks loosely that it strikes a funny bone in Saerom so easily. “He’s very uncool. He looks cold but he’s very nice.”

When the light turns green, she takes a left turn at the next small street corner as a shortcut to their office building. “Oh, and don’t worry about meeting Jisun. She’s pretty nice too.”

They pull into the underground parking lot, where Saerom has a reserved spot near the elevator. They quickly make their way in, and Gyuri looks more nervous than ever. She would have given her a pat on the head like how she did when Nagyung first came in, but Gyuri’s always been taller than Saerom. Nagyung was very young when they first worked together, she felt like a little sister, or maybe even a daughter to Saerom – that she felt a pat on the head would have worked. At this point, what is Gyuri to Saerom? And what relationship between them could compel for her to worry, or comfort?

Once they get off the elevator, Saerom quickly spots Jiwon and Jisun napping on the couch, their heads on opposite ends and their legs sprawled over each other. As they approach them with quiet steps, Saerom notices that the script is tucked snugly in Jisun’s arms, like a baby to a protective mother. She nudges them both, and they both wake in a state of confusion, with Jiwon almost hitting Jisun’s face with her feet as she gets up quickly, trying to orient herself to her surroundings.

Gyuri bows, and greets them, “Good evening, I’m Jang Gyuri.”

Jisun stands up soon afterwards, pulling at Saerom’s sleeve to get her attention. “Coffee… I’ll get… coffee.”

“I’ll do it. What about you, Jiwon? Gyuri?” Saerom offers seeing the girl struggle with the dim lights of the office, squinting at everything and nothing. Jisun has bad eyesight, and an even worse sense of direction. She doesn’t even go to the office often enough to know where the new pantry is. Jiwon grunts her affirmation, and Gyuri politely declines.

“The conference room is this way.” Jiwon leads the way, turning the lights on whenever she chances upon a switch on the wall, since she can easily get spooked by dark places. But her efforts become futile when they reach the conference room with its white floor, walls, ceiling and table. Its whiteness filling the room with so much brightness, Jiwon winces just by opening the door, since she was used to the dim of the hallways.

“Take a seat.”

Gyuri takes the nearest empty seat. Jisun hands her the script before taking the seat across her, with Jiwon next to her. It feels almost like an interrogation that Gyuri fears she might get taken off the job if she does badly today in whatever it is they plan to do.

“Your audition was from a later scene,” Jisun informs her, “This script is for the entire thing. We’ll give you time to read it and then why don’t you give us your opinion?”

Gyuri scans the booklet. This is the first time she’ll be able to read the story in its entirety. The color and semi-matte finish of the cover give it a very sophisticated feel. The text embossed on the center revealing the title in a signature font style that could be easily recognized by fans of their production house. Since Gyuri is a fan, she wonders if this project is part of a franchise, or an extended world building. But upon diving into Roh Jisun’s fictional world, Gyuri forgets all about it as she realizes the extent of the job she’s been given, and the sudden surmountable expectations that she has to overcome and show for.

Her character is charming, confident and commanding. It says it so in the script, that is how she is introduced. In the story, she is to portray someone who just _can_ , who seems without any struggle, or one who appears to be without any struggle but underneath is in the cusps of falling apart. A character must have these nuances to be interesting. An identity honed through the forces of anger and revenge with antagonist-like actions but protagonist-like motivations, a vague humanity, someone people might detest, or someone people might root for.

Reaching midway of the script, she looks up and belatedly registers the arrival of another person in the room. There are four of them now, huddled together with their coffee mugs in hand, holding idle chatter. Song Hayoung is their composer. She mostly works for them in musical scoring and soundtrack production, so essentially she should be called their film composer, but she works on acoustic albums from time to time and that’s how Gyuri knows her. She is the first one she locks eyes with, and Hayoung greets her with a small warm smile, slightly scrunching her nose.

“You seem very engrossed while reading. Was it fun?” Hayoung approaches her, speaking slowly, with a bit of a childlike energy.

“Yes,” It is a surprise she can even speak, but the affirmation must be spoken or all else loses its meaning. That’s – well, it’s something her character says, and something she has to embody.

There’s a camera on a tripod at the side, something she only spots when she has looked up from reading. She must have been very engrossed in the script indeed.

“This is Song Hayoung. She’s our composer.” They each take a seat in front of her, with Jiwon now sitting right across her, introducing the newcomer in the room.

“Hayoung, this is Jang Gyuri, our new lead.” Except Gyuri is the actual newcomer, so she bows, and sits back down again, and fiddles with the hem of her shirt to contain the nervous energy in just her fingertips. If she can conceal it, it would be better.

“I’ve already written something actually when the story was in its juvenile stages. Just a little tune.” Hayoung announces, and then pausing suddenly to crane her neck to look at Saerom who is seated at the far end of the table, drinking from her mug. “But Saerom tells us you actually sing, so –”

“Oh, but I’m terrible.” Gyuri interrupts almost immediately, and Saerom predicts she would say that. She’s always been a little self-deprecating, and a little too untrustworthy of her own abilities.

Hayoung smiles, reassuring her with such a simple gesture. “Saerom tells us otherwise.”

Gyuri begins scanning the room. How many people in here know about their previous relationship? She knows Jiwon knows, of course. They first met and got acquainted when Saerom and Gyuri went to see Jiwon’s first movie in a cinema that only had seven other people watching. Gyuri could say that she was there for both Jiwon’s humble beginnings and her rise to critical acclaim. Jisun and Hayoung might know, by association, maybe Saerom or Jiwon had mentioned it in passing, she could’ve made for a good story, a little back in the day thing, a strange sentimental reminisce.

“I’ll have a demo sent to you, alright? If you don’t like it then, you have all the means to decline.” The proposal is simple enough, except Gyuri knows deep in her heart she could not reject the offer, not when Saerom speaks so well of her that Hayoung puts blind confidence in a voice she’s never even heard before.

Jisun beckons Saerom to follow her outside with as little as the raising of her eyebrows. Jisun’s eyebrows are the most expressive pair of eyebrows in Saerom’s experience with eyebrows, probably to compensate for her sleepy eyes. Once Jisun stands up, Saerom immediately follows piquing the interest in some of the people in the room, particularly Jiwon and Gyuri since they look up, their gaze following the two as they close the door behind them carefully.

Jisun brings her to the end of the hall, away from the conference room.

“Is it a bad idea?”

“I’m in full support of this whole integration thing. But only if it further enriches your vision of the story.”

“No, silly.” Jisun takes her hand in hers, “To be working so closely with Gyuri, is it a bad idea?”

She feels Jisun give her hand a little squeeze, reassuring her that it’s fine to speak honestly. “Well, I don’t think it’s a good idea for me. But she’s a good fit for the movie, isn’t she?”

“She’s good.”

“Too good, it’d be a waste to let her go.”

Jisun smiles at her meaningfully, as though telling her ‘so you do know’ and perhaps she’s known for a while, but it is in especially knowing that she let go of the most wonderful existence in her life that makes it that much harder for her to move on.

 

* 

Saerom drives her back home, after having her read most of the almost final script. Jisun says there can still be minor revisions depending on Gyuri and Kiho’s opinions. Gyuri’s audition probably sparked the change. Jiwon also informs Gyuri of a plan to release a behind-the-scene photobook that may come with the Blu-ray release, which was the reason for the camera in the room earlier. Jiwon had originally wanted a commentary featurette, but Saerom has always opposed the idea, saying that the beauty of their films lie in the not knowing. So a little peek is already sufficient, and the photobook is where they meet halfway.

Gyuri is suddenly overwhelmed by the unbearable weight of the responsibility she just took on, remaining quiet and thinking during most of their trip.

“I still have some of your stuff in my apartment.” Saerom begins, not knowing if this is a good idea. But when else is a better time? “I’ll bring it the next time we meet.”

Meeting again is difficult. What is the difference between the one who leaves and the one who gets left behind?

“Does Jisun know?”

Immediately, just by hearing the question, Saerom knows what she’s asking about. Does Jisun know about _them_? What they were, and what they’ve become. In fact, it’s difficult to think about the two of them as a _them_ , as a unit that cannot be separated. More so, Saerom finds it difficult to speak, so she only manages to nod despite knowing that it would bring Gyuri’s eyes on her and the thought that they’re alone and that she’s looking at her seems to allow a bit of hope to swell in her chest. Hope is a dangerous thing. Once hope settles in, it might birth love again.

Saerom swallows, “But only as much as Jiwon knows.”

“Does Hayoung know?”

“No. No. Hayoung doesn’t know anything.”

Hayoung doesn’t ask, so Saerom is in no business to inform her of anything. But perhaps a greater reason for not saying is that once she begins to give a voice to it, all the more would the hole in heart be harder to fill. Once she gives it a voice, she could no longer deny it to be false. Denial is a great mask, after all.

They are past the point of melting. They are broken up. Do they call it that because it also literally feels like she’s been tattered and shattered to pieces?

“I would rather that we keep it between us.”

Saerom laughs nervously, “Hey, I don’t even like talking about it.”

A sincere request only warrants an equally sincere answer, but a rare display of sincerity seems to only open them up more. They haven’t been as honest leading to their separation. It’s easier to smile and say everything will be okay, rather than attempt at some desperate conversation to rekindle a stale romance.

“Do you mind if we stop by your apartment now?”

“I have to warn you though. I personally haven’t been home in a while, so if any table top or counter is collecting dust, I have my excuse.”

That’s one thing that happens when one leaves. A room and the things in it collecting dust. The walls losing its color, the scent musty as one enters, an indication that the place is brittle and falling apart. For a human being, it might be harder to recognize, but seeing Gyuri inside her apartment again, Saerom feels a sudden urge to cry, and it is through the pooling of tears that it seems that she, as well, is falling apart – a consequence of someone leaving, and being left behind.

Once Gyuri takes her things back, she would also take away all the physical traces of her in their once shared apartment. She forgot only small and trivial items: a wrist watch, a humidifier, scented candles (a gift she never really got to use), a white rhino plushie, and several pieces of clothing because Gyuri usually didn’t allow herself to borrow any of Saerom’s flare pants or strangely patterned shirts. A funny story is that Saerom was wearing a snake print dress and coincidentally met Jiwon who was in leopard print top, and that was specifically when Gyuri swore off animal print anything.

Saerom has already put her things away in one place, as she was planning to send it to her parents’ house. She brings a box from inside her closet, in it are Gyuri’s things arranged neatly inside. Unsurprisingly, Gyuri cannot take away all the traces she has left in this house. They were very simple memories, but it is in its simplicity that draws Saerom further away from returning here, opting to shift her life around in her office. In her own home is a burial of their once shared life, their once shared dreams and the future they aspired to have together. A casket she will lock and stow away for as long as she can for there is not a single wall, floor, or ceiling that is not tainted with her.

Gyuri is in her bedroom in front of her vanity eyeing a framed photo. “This is new,” she says, holding it up 

“Fireflies,” she begins, placing the box on the bed before sitting down, suddenly feeling its weight and need to lower it (to the ground, again like a funeral of sorts), “Don’t live for very long. A photograph is the only way I could keep them at their most beautiful.”

There are plenty of them, glowing yellow all around the night sky. If Saerom had not said that they were fireflies, Gyuri could have easily mistaken them as something else. But fireflies make sense. Saerom once had a strange idea of catching fireflies that could fill her entire room with light.

“Nakko got a special camera and everything, just so she could gift me that photo.”

“Ah,” Gyuri places the photo down, “Nagyung.”

Gyuri always envied the affection that Nagyung receives because she’s Nagyung. Nakko. A cute nickname from childhood that extends its use because it is actually the most endearing thing. But maybe Gyuri just always envied the affection that Nagyung particularly receives from Saerom.

But the one who leaves must accept that things will change in their absence. The room can be rebuilt, and be filled with new things. It is at this particular process where the one who leaves can also feel like the one who is left behind. Gyuri plops down on the bed, a closed box separating her from Saerom who eventually lies down as well.

Leaving has the tendency to turn things fragile. One can dust the furniture, paint the walls, scrub every nook and cranny, but it would never be brand new again. One can open the doors, the windows and the blinds, letting the air and rays of the sun settle in, becoming new unfamiliar residents of a previously sunlight-starved and closed room, allowing a transformation.

“If I had asked you then to work things out, how do you suppose things would end up between us?” Saerom has always been the more vocal one. But she didn’t expect the truth to sound so lonely said aloud, and maybe there had been more desperate attempts at getting her attention in the past, but the desperation has never felt so big until now, taking up so much room in her chest she could feel the pain at her very center, as though calling for Gyuri to tend to it.

“Do you think we would’ve worked it out?”

“I would have wanted it to.”

“Then why didn’t you ask?” 

“I was afraid you were going to say no.” Saerom turns to her, tears rolling down suddenly. “I was afraid we might learn to hate each other eventually.”

Gyuri reaches out to dry her tears. “You’re usually reeking of positivity. Of course, I could never hate you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I only have love for you.”

“Even now?”

Gyuri kicks the box between them, swinging her legs over Saerom’s hip and gently hovering above her figure. She wipes her tears and fixes her hair, tucking the loose strands behind her ear. Gyuri’s mouth reaches hers, breathing life into her, and she suddenly feels a jealous pang at the realization that these lips will find another in front of the camera, in front of an audience that may love or hate her, and that eventually Saerom has to watch Gyuri fall in love with someone else and that she _has_ to be okay with it. It was easier to avoid when it happened on stage, she just need not be present, she just need not to think about it. Cameras are prohibited anyway. In theater, the story is always the same but the execution can always arrive with slight changes.

“Like I always have.” Gyuri speaks.

Saerom feels like she’s untangling at the same time, wriggling out of a convoluted loop of her own making. Gyuri seems to be drawing her out, knowing exactly where the ends of her threads lie.

“So stay with me.”

“And what else do you suggest I do?” Gyuri asks but her hands are already busy, peeling Saerom out of her clothes.

“Never leave -”

Never leave _again_. But Gyuri steals the last word from her mouth, sucking the poison out, taking away all her bitter memories. In a way, it seems like Gyuri had not left at all. That she had always held a place. In a way, it feels like time had really folded into itself, and that they were again indeed at the starting point, with hope and love and longing bursting from all directions. Hope, love and longing allowing her to withstand being stripped bare under a still fully clothed Gyuri who has undressed her to the bone, revealing her ugliest truths: her desperation, her profound need for her touch, her every desire now all within her fingertips’ reach. So she tugs and pulls and gets rid of every unnecessary article of clothing on Gyuri in turn, and hopes that she finds her own desire reflected back on her skin, with the nakedness of her.

 

* 

The loud ringing of her phone wakes Saerom. The sound hard to locate because of her grogginess, but her phone ends up just sitting where she left it a few hours before. Jiwon’s voice is even louder as she answers the call that she has to physically move the phone away from her ear. “Why haven’t you been replying to my messages?!”

“Sorry, it seems I can oversleep too, like any other regular human being.” Saerom eyes Gyuri who stirs in her sleep, probably because of the sudden noise. She picks a white dress shirt from her closet, quickly gets into it, and hurries outside the room to continue the conversation. Even her mornings have become quite busy, “Is this about the table read?”

“Are you sure you’re no longer dreaming?”

Saerom turns the door knob, and peeks at Gyuri’s sleeping figure through the small gap. “I’m not quite sure about that.”

“Get yourself together. Read my messages. They’re important.”

Jiwon ends the call abruptly and when her screen lights up again with a simple press of a button what greets her are a bunch of notifications and emails. Urgent reschedules and story board submissions that barely make the deadline. The table read is rescheduled tomorrow, but she’s supposed to come in the office nonetheless, to approve a new ending storyboarded by another producer who finds the current ending a little too extreme. It’s strange to Saerom too, how Jisun’s mind can go to such a place.

She doesn’t have to be at the office until noon, because Jiwon also arrives sometime post-lunch. Lunch is important in Jiwon’s apartment as long as Jisun is around. So Saerom takes her time and boils water for her tea, puts several slices of bread in the toaster, reading email after email while waiting for the ding of either the toaster or the electric kettle. She prepares two of everything, even setting it quietly on the table makes her smile.

When she returns to her room, she draws the curtains open, and Gyuri still lay at her usual side as peaceful as peaceful can be, with her back towards her as she sits on the edge of the bed. The aftermath is marked by lines. Tremors leave lines. Like the Earth once shaken. Lines. On her skin. Straight lines. Some bent around. Their fragile ends have come undone like this. She shuffles and turns to face Saerom, with Gyuri’s lips turning into a smile, the best line. Her outstretched hands reaching for an embrace which Saerom collapses into, breathing into her neck.

“You were unusually rough last night.” In contrast to what she says, how she says them is much more surprising. Her voice is raspy but there is softness in her tone, perhaps due to sleepiness. They’ve talked it about it before in passing, how in the machinery and inner workings of her body—if she were a machine—her voice is the last to wake up.

“I’m sorry,” Saerom pulls away, looking at her puffy face and slightly swollen eyelids and the difficulty in which she tries to pull them open. “I think I was trying to see how it’s like to hurt you.”

“Because I hurt you?” And open them she does successfully eventually, taking a good look at her face.

Saerom swallows. “Because I was hurt.”

And then it’s Gyuri’s turn to apologize. An apology relay of sorts. If she were a machine, if they were machines, there would be no need to apologize. There would have been no hurt or pain. There would be no sensation as Saerom’s hands reach across Gyuri’s back, feeling the lines she wrote, trying to discern the meaning of them. Like braille to the blind.

“Then I’ll just have to be more gentle with you.”

But since they are only human, and their bodies can easily be bruised and abused, utmost care must be exercised especially towards the fragile.

“Then I’ll be in your care.” Saerom offers a smile.

And since they are only human, and their own bodies are the least of their considerations, care must be exercised especially towards the other, the lover, and the loved one, which they become again in a cycle they have subjected themselves into.

 

* 

“You can let go of my hand, you know.” Gyuri comments as she sees Saerom struggle to reply to her messages.

“I can, but I don’t want to.” Saerom stubbornly holds on tighter. Did they drift apart perhaps? It doesn’t feel like a great distance had separated them, and they weren’t broken up for a long time either. But it’s almost like Saerom feels the need to keep her close.

“Will you keep me here?”

“I can but I don’t think I should.” She smiles weakly, still not letting go. “Let’s hold it off until you finish the movie.”

Despite initiating the suggestion, Gyuri seems to agree, rhythmically nodding to a song that’s probably only playing in her head. A sign that she’s in a good mood. “Speaking of the movie, I need to learn how to wield a gun.”

“Oh crap, is that today?”

“I don’t think so. But that’s the one I look forward to the most.”

“Surprising… but actually not surprising at all considering it’s coming from a retired colonel’s daughter.” Gyuri’s dad is charming in his own stern, quiet and rigid ways. Saerom has met him several times to see how alike the two of them are. Both tall, smart and unlike their first impressions. Both shy and honest and comfortable with themselves. Saerom could even say that Gyuri got her stubbornness from him. He’s not as easy to convince, at least in comparison to Saerom’s own very supportive father.

“I’m quite good at shooting games.”

Saerom is in an uncontrollable fit of laughter. “Oh my god, says the person who scored badly the last time we went.”

“That was one time!” Gyuri protests, whining and pouting. “I screw up one time and that’s what everyone seems to remember, huh.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just for some reason, you’re easily the butt of many small jokes.”

Gyuri juts her lower lip slightly.

“Hey, you’re cute when you’re sulky.”

“You’re cute when…” It shows visibly on her face when gears are turning. Actually every flitting emotion shows on Gyuri’s face well, even the small satisfaction of blurting out a wise compliment. “You’re cute all the time, Saerom-ah.”

It isn’t difficult to imagine Saerom with someone else. In fact, Gyuri seems to torment herself enough with the thought that since Saerom is the most charming, most graceful person to exist then finding someone that would love her well is next to easy, natural even that someone like her should be loved and cherished well; a task she wasn’t able to fulfill, that’s why she might as well end up alone and lonely. But she isn’t. She managed to find her way back to her.

Gyuri squeezes Saerom’s hand and takes a deep breath, so deep that the air hits her chest sharply, as though she were a machine needing revving before the start of a race, before the take off, before the most crucial moment. “It was hard for me to imagine a future without you.”

Saerom stares at her blankly, gently putting her phone aside, because it’s a distraction suddenly and she needs the full experience. “Say that again.”

“It’s always you. No matter what.” Eloquence is not Gyuri’s strong feat. She’s a strong believer that actions speak louder than words, and it might be partly because she didn’t really come from a very affectionate and vocal family. She struggles sometimes just to get the words out. Saerom recalls their first ‘I love you’, and how the words needed reeling out, like it was a heavy material lodged in Gyuri’s throat that she has to take out or else she wouldn’t be able to breathe. When she has said it and given it space on the outside to take meaning, it made living easy, because it was the one truth she couldn’t and shouldn’t keep. Their love, in the beginning, felt like that. Under deep and passionate affections where the smallest of touch and glance sparked the same song, yet they only dance around each other, tiptoeing at their preconceived idea of a relationship.

There is a before and an after. And the exacting moment which separates the two. They quickly fall into previous patterns, but Saerom recognizes the courage it took Gyuri just to speak, but also the ease in the manner which she says them, no longer stumbling or choking the words out like before. It’s the truth. There is nothing shameful or embarrassing about love.

“Thank you,” Saerom replies finally, as succinctly as she can. Two words to mean everything.

Distance must be set, it seems, so that the heart can set its measures. The song that silently plays in the car while they drive goes in a sequence and around and a group of instruments sound when a new verse opens. They keep time. They keep track. There is a burst of strings in the climax: violin, cello, and what else is playing in it? They make the song swell with sadness, propelling it forward, but in the end it came apart like how it began. The song that silently plays in the car while they drive goes in a sequence and around, until it looped back to the same simple starting piano melody. The last key prolonged, mimicking white noise, like tinnitus almost. A harsh sound that calls one to pay attention to it, bothersome yet at the same time, tingling. This tickle in the ear, a person could even get used to – that when the song cuts off abruptly, as in a total silence, Saerom and Gyuri are shocked to realize they had gotten used to the elongated dull one piano note that accompanied them while they made their way into the parking lot.

“Wow, Hayoung sure is something else.”

“At the entrance to the universe.” Saerom looks over at Gyuri’s side, after turning the engine off. “The title.”

“So she has a penchant for long song titles.”

“She also has one called ‘The virtue and endurance of small things,’ inspired by Jisun, Jiwon and Seoyeon.”

Gyuri tries to stifle her laughter. “That’s… well, that’s original.”

They get out of the car and enter the building quietly, evading the influx of people coming from the other direction who most likely just finished lunch at the cafeteria. The company’s nutritionist is good and pretty, a rather short lady named Seoyeon, who many of the staff and office workers flock to greet during the short blessing that is lunch time. Seoyeon herself is a blessing. Gyuri and Saerom know her originally since childhood, from camp. All three of them went from being camp scouts, camp leaders, camp counsellors, and somewhere along the way, friends. 

“How is Seoyeon?” Gyuri asks, as they get in an empty elevator.

“Last I heard, she almost burned this building to the ground.”

“What? Is it another microwave incident?”

When they were assigned as camp counsellors, they thoroughly enjoyed the privilege of the pantry and its unlimited supply of snacks and instant food. Seoyeon, sadly, makes the untimely mistake of almost setting her food on fire while it was still in the microwave, and that ultimately waives all her access to the snacks and the chocolates and the jellies. It’s funny how the infamous microwave incident follows them even in their adult years.

“Oh my gosh,” Saerom laughs uncontrollably, hand over her mouth, body curling over and everything. “Remember the sound of her nervous laughter.”

The elevator door dings and opens at their floor. Jiwon is front and center, raising her eyebrows at them. “You guys came in together?”

“Err… no, we saw each other at the ground floor.” Saerom almost leaps out and is quick to speak for the both of them, and Gyuri follows along, nodding and trying to dispel Jiwon’s other suspicions, whatever it may be. 

“Kiho and Jisun are at the office at the end of the hall to the left.”

Gyuri squeezes her way in between the two of them to create a bit of distance, to release the tension that certainly exists as Jiwon looks at the two of them, scoping information and connecting the dots in her mind. The two stood in place quietly after Gyuri has left and even when she isn’t yet completely out of sight, she sees Jiwon pull Saerom by her sleeve at the corner of her eye.

 

*

Gyuri gets brought a curated book of style ideas, a big chunk of which are solely dedicated on striped pantsuits, and eye patches. Jisun is explaining how a one-eyed swordswoman was the coolest thing out of her imagination, but swords don’t have the range of a bullet, so decidedly a one-eyed gunwoman ends up with a more fatal blow.

The script doesn’t bother to explain why she wears an eye patch. It goes above and beyond to explain the other things: her character and Kiho’s character’s shared love of the sound of oboe, both reminding them of a bird (“Blue,” Kiho mutters under his breath, and somehow Gyuri agrees. It has to be blue.), their history of running away from home, from their families, from everyone but each other, and how revealed through a voice-over he considers her to be every woman, sometimes like his mother, his sister, his lover, his rival, how he despises and he loves, how he loves how he despises, and despises how he loves. It all shows very vividly in Gyuri’s mind. It all makes sense, except the eye patch.

“I have a question.”

The entire room turns their attention to her, even the stylists arranging clothes on a rack at the corner of the room pause their mindless tasks.

“Why the eye patch?”

Jisun smiles, with a mix of mischief and victory, like an ‘Aha! I’m glad you asked.’. “It’s cool, isn’t it?”

“Just because it’s cool?”

“We all have scars from the stupid things we do.”

“Stupid enough that it won’t get a mention?”

“The viewers know as much as he knows.” Jisun hums, turning to Kiho. “He knows but doesn’t talk about it.”

“You know?” Gyuri turns to Kiho too.

“I do?”

“Let’s say you do. In theory.” Jisun says it simply, as though that’s the end to it.

Jisun sprinkles a little bit of Jiwon in every story she writes. Some small inspiration from their own daily life, previously it had been a conversation, and a night time visit to the playground. This time it’s a song and an eye patch. Every story is borne out of a place of love. Jiwon is a small carefully unexplored detail, more so a thrillingly undiscovered secret. Every story is a confession of love, in place of all the times she is unable to speak it simply. 

Jiwon is simple-minded. It is not a criticism of her character. Jisun fondly thinks of it as an endearing attribute, much like how Saerom is an optimist. It is not a bad thing at all. It is even fruitful to be surrounded by such happy people. The two enter the room, just as Jisun contemplates that thought, and she scoffs at their ridiculously appropriate timing.

Fiction is not that far removed from reality if she really thinks about it. Chance encounters and accidents do happen in real life. Fantasy has always been a possibility in fiction. At one point, she thought fantasy is only possible in fiction. She got hired as a screenwriter to work alongside a ( _New_? Was she considered new then?) director with little box office pull, and little confidence in herself. It was a career reboot for Jiwon, a crucial turning point, but it was just the start of hers. She won a writing competition by an overwhelming unexpected turn of events, shooting up from the preliminary bottom spot to first place.

Her first screenplay wasn’t so much for Jiwon, compared to the ones that come after. The first one is entitled ‘The seventh,’. They still laugh about it every now and then. Her first is ‘The seventh’. The piece that won first place is called the seventh. It is a blissful irony, a gentle nudge, a sharp realization, their getting to know, her slight annoyance at how Jiwon treats her differently compared to everyone else, but how it was actually one of the first indications of the fact that she was special.

Special enough to be granted the privilege of being known. The producers… Saerom, the ever optimist especially, was expecting everything to go well. “Just as long as we work hard.” She can even hear the words echo from years back into this moment.

Special enough that her fantasy is made possible in reality. Jisun flashes Jiwon a smile, and in response Jiwon’s eyes soften into a loving gaze. Jiwon can be serious, and shy, and energetic – her many facets help her in directing and molding scenes that only existed in Jisun’s imagination into something more palpable projected on the screen. Something visceral. Something real.

Special enough that she has Jiwon, and that Jiwon has her.

“Jiwon wore an eye patch for some time when she was directing Nuclear.” Jisun announces for the entire room to hear.

Jiwon begins to object, “Why is this about me suddenly?”

Oh, if only she knew. Jisun sing songs but only in her mind. How everything is about her. “I think I have pictures of her from that time,” Jisun snickers, mostly to herself, as she takes her phone out to show everyone.

Gyuri turns to Kiho again, “Weren’t you in Nuclear?”

“For like 3 seconds.”

Nuclear was about a family of five that suddenly had to became a family of seven, taking in two children orphaned by an organophosphate poisoning. It was also Nagyung’s first movie. She played the younger version of the youngest orphan, who was fascinated with cats. Kiho was a mail boy who delivered the letter stating they were unsafe and must secure a safe hiding place. He appeared for more than 3 seconds for sure, but Jiwon might have to check the tapes to see if he’s right.

“Look at Jiwon,” Jisun shows Jiwon’s photo where she proudly sports a ridiculous expression on her face, eyes blank and mouth agape. The only person in a blur at an otherwise perfectly well taken photograph of the filming and editing team at the test audience screening.

Jiwon buries her face in her hands, “For the amount of times this has already happened, I’m not sure why I’m still surprised.”

“You’ve learned to follow the path of least resistance.” Jisun winks.

Saerom glances over at Gyuri who seems to have arrived at the same thought, their gazes reuniting in an understanding. They, as well, found themselves at the path of least resistance.

 

* 

“I’ve… relapsed.”

“Surely, it’s the easier option,” Jiwon looks over at Jisun who with her entire face is telling her to control her the tone of voice… because _surely_ sarcasm isn’t the best attempt to ease into a proper conversation, but Jiwon must not have held back well enough because Saerom’s face falls as she inevitably looks over at Jiwon, and she looks like like she’s done something questionable and evil when it’s far from that.

“I’m sorry,” Jiwon is quick to blurt out, hands up in the air in a surrender. Her words a bullet straight to the wound that Saerom is trying her hardest not to entertain.

Did she do the wrong thing? Did she succumb to a moment of weakness and allowed it to change the course of her life so suddenly? Saerom swears seeing Gyuri in her bedroom is nice, having breakfast and talking again is nice, seeing each other again is nice. But there is truly no guarantee that they won’t spiral the same way they did before. When Gyuri begins to have less time for her, which is soon, how can Saerom be sure they won’t fall back quickly into the same pattern as before? Jiwon said it. It’s easy. All it took was meeting again, and they were all over each other again. All it took to fall apart was to lose contact, and certainly that sounds even _easier_ given their circumstances.

“So you guys are like officially back together?” Jisun narrows her eyes, and rests her head on her propped hand. How can they make this feel like an interrogation of sorts?

“Well… define official.”

Jiwon throws her hands up in annoyance, left only to eye Saerom pointedly since she sees Jisun’s assertive gaze too, and she might get the short end of the stick if she continues being tactless with Saerom.

“Stop. We just haven’t had time to talk about it yet.”

“Better be quick then. At this rate, you won’t have any time left with her, and the next thing you know… it’s going to…”

Saerom doesn’t allow Jiwon to finish her sentence. She doesn’t want to know how it ends. “I’ll get to it.”

She storms out of the room, annoyed that Jiwon is right, but also fascinated at the strange occurrence of Jisun and Jiwon switching personalities. Is that what being in a relationship does? Since when was Jiwon the snarky one?

Gyuri is at the cafeteria with Kiho, and possibly Hayoung if she’s not lying about being on time. Saerom halts at a corner before the cafeteria, breathing deeply, trying to calm her mood.

“What are you doing? 

It’s Seoyeon, who looks on curiously.

“I’m… meditating.”

“Here?”

“Yea, it’s… calming.”

“Why not inside? Gyuri unni is there.” Seoyeon gives her a knowing smile before walking past her, and announcing Saerom’s arrival at the table where Gyuri and Hayoung are sitting. Kiho must have gone home.

Hayoung grins at her cheerfully, signature smile in check. “What are you still doing here?”

“I should be asking you that.” Saerom takes the empty seat next to Gyuri, taking her idle hand into hers under the table.

“Hey, Seoyeon was sitting there.”

Seoyeon arrives in time to intervene, mug in hand to offer to Saerom. “Oh, it’s fine. As much as I want to catch up, I’m afraid I have to go.”

“What?” Gyuri whines, “Why? We barely got talking.”

“I’m… dog-sitting.”

“Ah.” Saerom replies a little too quickly in understanding that it’s strange. Gyuri and Hayoung turn their heads to her in unison. “She’s dog-sitting.” She repeats, a little too absurdly and flatly.

There is some truth in it. Nagyung does have a dog. But Saerom highly doubts they bring the dog along to their date nights. Word goes around quickly, especially when an actress makes rounds in the cafeteria everyday even when they have no particular business being in the building anyway. And one tiny confrontation with Nagyung was all it took to fish the information right from her mouth. Dog sitting originates from Nagyung’s (successful?) attempt at flirting with Seoyeon, asking the shorter girl if she wants to dog sit for her when she really just wants to get to know her better. Saerom was thinking it would have been fine if that wasn’t her conversation starter, but thinking about it now, it seems to have made quite an impact.

“We should get going too actually. You too, Hayoung. It’s getting late.”

“You guys are leaving together?”

“Uhh… Gyuri is dog sitting for me, too.”

 

*

“I still can’t believe Seoyeon is dating.”

“Contrary to popular belief, she’s not a baby anymore.”

Gyuri is silent after a while, lost in her thought perhaps, cracking the unsolvable puzzle that is Seoyeon’s romance with Lee Nagyung. It gets lost on her sometimes that Seoyeon has become an adult as well. It gets lost on her sometimes that she has become older. Sometimes she still feels like she’s just a teenager whose feet goes where one’s heart tugs. Which is why she returns and finds herself again where her heart feels the most comfort.

“Doesn’t it ever cross your mind that maybe Seoyeon finds it weird that we’re dating?” _Smooth_ , Saerom thinks. Gyuri won’t even know what hit her. Asking for a confirmation directly is difficult and maybe Saerom has exhausted enough of her honesty and vulnerability, going round-a-bout is fine.

“Loving you is the easiest thing for me to do.”

Saerom doesn’t even know what hit her. She laughs nervously, “You never used to say stuff like that.”

“The affirmation must be spoken or all else loses its meaning.”

She smiles, recognizing the dialogue from where else but Jisun’s own genius screenplay. “I expect nothing less from your highly intellectual mind. You’ve memorized up to that point?”

She nods. Gyuri studied abroad for a year. Only a year, and yet being first was no big deal. High school in America in reality was actually awfully different from what they show in movies. They started dating since before then. It was the first time they were apart for a long time. The first time Saerom was actually really thankful they were born in the era of the internet, the first time she wished the year would go quickly, and it was the only time she thought they would be apart.

“So what’s the hardest thing for you to do?”

“Leaving you.”

What a vicious cycle really. Saerom sighs deeply, shifting around to face Gyuri, who loosens her draped arm across Saerom’s torso. Gyuri needs to hug something to sleep. Saerom told her before that she thinks it originates from an attachment disorder, to which Gyuri replied that she thinks it’s worse that Saerom sleep talks, and sleep sings and sometimes sleep walks.

“Or cooking. Isn’t that tough? You have such a hard time.” Saerom jokes, trying to lighten the atmosphere but it doesn’t really get to Gyuri who looks down, trying not to make eye contact, her lips pursed in thought.

Saerom cups her face in her hands, and she leans into her touch almost instinctively. “I’m sad that you’re leaving,”

They film majority of the movie at Busan, like a screenwriter’s love letter to the place of her lover’s birth. They get less and less subtle as the years go.

“You can always visit. You’re my boss. You’re just monitoring my performance is all.”

“Even before you leave for Busan. I mean you’re already a little busy with stuff now.”

“That’s true. I have to be up by 4AM.”

“Go to sleep. I won’t talk anymore.”

“We have to talk about girlfriend stuff though.”

“So we _are_ girlfriends.”

“Of course, we are, silly.”

“I haven’t said it yet but…” Saerom begins, “I love you.”

It feels like if time stood still at this particular moment, and they can have it frozen forever, it would be fine. A fossil of sorts. That they keep in a museum. Only for viewing. This is what love is like. And every spectator who would come and take a look would just nod in agreement. No arguments. Like some gospel truth. This is what love is like 

“I know.”

Saerom grunts in frustration, “Don’t Han Solo me. Say it back!”

“We’ve only dated for a day. Who says it after a day?”

“Technically, it’s the second day.”

“So you’re keeping count.” Gyuri looks at her with a smug smile across her face. Annoyingly annoying and annoyingly beautiful.

“Wow, I can’t deal with you.”

“And yet you love me.”

“A regrettable moment of relapse.”

Gyuri inches closer and kisses her gently. Almost like their first kiss. Except that one stormy night at camp, it was Saerom that held Gyuri’s feverish neck after surging forward, drawn to her mouth after having heard her honest confession.

“If we’re going into technicalities, I never stopped loving you.”

“You already said that yes…yesterday.” Saerom motions with her hands awkwardly.

“Am I not allowed a repetition?”

Saerom plants a kiss on the tip of her nose, the pout of her upper lip, and then the lines at the corner of her mouth that curves as she smiles. “Won’t something change?”

Saerom lifts her chin, exposing her neck, as Gyuri trails kisses down the angle of her jaw, to the pulsing sides of her neck, down to her collarbone.

“Well, not everything is the same.” 


End file.
